


Mrs. O'Leary's Cow

by TheSmutFaries



Series: Quickies [3]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, F/M, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-04
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-13 14:31:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13572540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSmutFaries/pseuds/TheSmutFaries
Summary: Abbie is much sought after by the little old ladies at the senior center.  Which one of the sweet grandmas will get to call Abbie their granddaughter?  Will it be Tilly Reynolds? Gloria Morales? Rosa Foster? Muriel O'Leary? Aggie Brooks? The world may never know (actually, we all know which grandson she falls for, lets be honest).





	Mrs. O'Leary's Cow

Lieutenant Grace Abigail “Abbie” Mills was an exemplary and upstanding citizen of Sleepy Hollow, New York. She was well respected within the Westchester County Sheriff's Department. She had received numerous recognitions and accolades for her service to the community. Little old ladies tried coaxing her into visiting when their _handsome grandsons_ came to visit for Sunday lunch.

She could outshoot almost anyone at the department -- except Sheriff Corbin, but she swears the codgy old fart cheats just to ruffle her feathers. She could easily take any of the guys in hand to hand combat. She could de-escalate a situation like she was made for that sort of thing. Abbie even had a sparkling clean DMV record.

Which meant it was a bit of a surprise that the front end of her Jeep was currently wedged between the legs of a large scrap metal cow. On the side of the cow was a faded banner that proclaimed _Welcome to O'Leary Creamery and Dairy Farm!_

Jesus. She wasn't going to hear the end of this. She had run into a literal O'Leary's cow. Maybe this one wouldn't start any citywide fires.

“Are you alright, madam?”

She startled at the sound of the deep, rich voice and whirled away from the carnage to face the source. 

_Of course it would be him._

The very reason her goddamn Jeep was buried underneath a giant metal cow.

**_Ten minutes earlier…_ ** __

_Abbie adjusted her radio then turned it off as she turned down Bedford Road, fresh from doing a drive by of Kykuit. It was a favor to Corbin to shut someone up about a weird-looking creature lurking near the main gate. He warranted the guard was just seeing shit again._

_He was right. It had been shrubbery that oddly enough did look like a goblin of some kind on the video feed. But hey, the kid watching the gate could rest at ease knowing he wasn't going to be attacked by a demon any time soon._

_It had the added benefit she didn't have to pay for anything at Starbucks for three months._

_In the distance she saw a figure in the field, tossing bales of hay out of the back of an old pickup and thought nothing of it. That is until she got closer. By then, the figure was out of the truck bed._

_It wouldn't have been so bad if said figure hadn't taken his shirt off. That had caught and held Abbie's attention. Time had seemed to stand still as pale sweat-sheened skin was put on display. A lithe body with surprising whipcord muscles revealed itself as he struggled to pull the shirt over his head._

_Abbie licked her lips as her eyes feasted upon the tall, broad-shouldered man. Her gaze drifted over his delicately-toned stomach, following the light smattering of hair that disappeared into jeans that hung loose on his hips._

_Her biological clock was screaming, reminding her that it had been at least three months since her last hookup with Tilly Reynolds’ grandson. She wasn't sure who this skinny farm boy belonged to but he was ticking all the right boxes at the moment._

_She snatched her attention away as the loud grating noise of shoulder vibrated her Jeep. But by then it was too late, she was careening right into the O'Leary cow._

~*~

Abbie scowled as she hung up the landline phone. She sighed heavily and rubbed her temples. At least she had given Sonja in dispatch a laugh.

_I swerved to miss a cat._

_Mmmhmm, sure you did Mills. I'll send Luke out to do the report._

_We don't need one. There's literally zero damage to anything and my insurance is going to cover pulling my Jeep from under the cow._

Then of course she had to call Corbin, who laughed even harder than Sonja after he made sure Abbie was unharmed. Unfortunately everyone she knew was either currently out of town or was working so they couldn't come to her rescue.

At least not one she wanted to come to her rescue. Luke had offered, but she told him her sister was going to pick her up when she got done with business in The City. Besides, she didn't want to put up with his “don't I at least get a kiss for rescuing you?” mentality.

Which meant she had about eight hours to kill. Mostly because she knew when Jenny was conducting business, Jenny became a charmer that could talk the pants off a nun.

Abbie sighed and turned toward the gracious hostess and owner of the metal bovine. The sweet little old lady was busily swatting her grandson’s hands away as he tried to help arrange a pitcher and glasses of ice onto a clear glass tray.

Her grandson was the one and same cause of the thirst crash. He very patiently pulled his hands away when grandma swatted and gave a soft, “It isn't being stacked to have its picture taken, Ichabod; it doesn't have to be perfect. A sweet girl like Abigail will like that you thought to bring her a refreshment and might get uncomfortable if everything is set up perfectly.”

“Grandmother, she can _hear you_.”

They both glanced in her direction. “Ichabod” blushed then used grandma's temporary distraction to quickly rearrange the tray. Mrs. O'Leary narrowed her eyes when she looked down at the tray and then at her grandson.

The little old lady beamed cheerily. 

“Is everything sorted, Officer Mills?” Mrs. O'Leary cooed. 

“Yes ma'am, I just have to wait for my sister to come pick me up,” Abbie replied with a big grin. “It may be a few hours, if that's alright?”

Mrs. O'Leary clapped happily. 

“That would be absolutely delightful, Officer Mills. I just so happened to have finished making some of my blueberry lavender lemonade. Would you care to join us for some?”

“I would love to, Mrs. O'Leary,” Abbie said with a bright smile. “And call me Abbie.”

“Only if you agree to call me grandma,” Mrs. O'Leary replied, shuffling over to take Abbie's hand.

Abbie nodded. She figured it wouldn't hurt to indulge the old woman. 

“I would love some lemonade, grandma.”

Mrs. O'Leary preened and looked back at her grandson as she led Abbie toward the living room. “Ichabod, did I tell you Abbie works for the sheriff's department? She comes to the senior center every Tuesday to _hang_ with us old people… is that what the young people say these days?”

When Abbie glanced back at Ichabod, he had the tray of refreshments in his hands. He had a look that said, yes, grandma had told him twelve times about the police officer that volunteers at the senior center but he was willing to listen to it twelve more times if she wanted to tell it.

However, not even five minutes into drinks, Mrs. O'Leary glanced at the grandfather clock as it dinged out the hour of ten. 

“Oh, heavens,” she gasped a little too dramatically. “I just remembered your grandfather's doctor was going to be making rounds at eleven. I need to get to the hospital.”

“Grandm--”

Abbie hid a grin behind sipping her drink.

“Ichabod, you should be a good host and show Abbie around the farm while I'm gone,” Mrs. O'Leary said. She shuffled to Ichabod and leaned down and softly said, “And if you kids get on as well as I think you will, just remember there's condoms in the bathroom here in the main house and in your cabin.”

Abbie pretended not to hear but nearly choked on her lemonade. Ichabod gave an exasperated _grandmother!_ as his face glowed red.

“Do not worry, grandmother,” he said. Abbie squeezed her thighs together because damn, his voice sounded like sin wrapped in a warm electric blanket. “I promise I shall take good care of Miss Mills in your absence.”

The little old lady simply patted his bearded cheek and shuffled out entirely too quickly. 

“Ichabod, I'll put a blanket in the truck in case you want to do a picnic!” Mrs O'Leary called followed by the sound of the door closing.

When Abbie lowered her glass, she cleared her throat gently. Her face warmed when, instead of a shy apology, Ichabod gave her an almost devilish smirk.

It suddenly occurred to her that maybe the shy boyishness was an act he put on for granny. Her kinda guy.

“My grandmother can be quite the busybody,” Ichabod said after a moment. “If you prefer, you may make yourself comfortable whilst I finish the task list for the farm. Or…” his voice dropped to a low, sensual tone. “You can have a tour the public eye rarely receives.”

There was definitely a heated glance that said that the tour would be ending with her, stomach down on grandma's handmade quilt, with a dick inside of her.

Abbie licked her lips, watching the way his eyes zeroed in on the tip of her tongue. His own tongue darted out, barely peeping from beneath his mustache, mimicking the movements of hers.

“I'd _love_ a tour,” she said, hoping she didn't sound too eager or breathless. 

~*~

Ichabod had long resigned himself to a life of eternal bachelorhood. All it had taken was dating Old Man Van Tassel’s daughter. They had dated briefly and at first he had been intrigued by her wispy earthy witch _thing_.

Then he realized she was batshit crazy when she was saying she loved him by the middle of the second date. Then shrieked that she could make him love her if she wanted to as he deposited her at her home that night.

It ended in a restraining order that she didn't always abide by.

So naturally when his grandmother had taken a shine to a pretty, single volunteer - with extra emphasis on _single_ \- at the senior center, Ichabod started keeping his distance. He had already been burnt by his grandmother's meddling, he wasn't doing it again.

He avoided her any time his grandmother chimed “Lieutenant Mills!” with delight. Most of the time he had been fortunate to _just miss_ the pretty officer. And then it happened. He actually laid eyes on her. 

She had volunteered on a Thursday instead of a Tuesday. She had still been in uniform so there was no denying who she was. He had been struck speechless by how beautiful she was.

Then he had turned and noped his way back to the car to await his grandparents’ exit from the building. He’d decided she was vastly out of his league.

Though once he had fancied the idea that maybe she wouldn't laugh at him if he just introduced himself. He got as far as the greeter at the door of the senior center. Then Tilly Reynolds had dragged her grandson over to meet Abbie. 

Daniel was ridiculously handsome and held a respectable position with the FBI. Ichabod had thought he had surely lost his chance to have a chance with the young woman. That is, until this very morning when a beat up Jeep found itself underneath the horrendous scrap metal cow at the farm entrance.

Fate?

Had to be, Ichabod thought. He would have never have dared to orchestrate such events himself.

He hadn't noticed the accident until he had finished mopping his face with his shirt and seen the blinking tail lights. Ichabod had immediately driven the farm truck over to investigate. By the time he arrived, the Lieutenant was outside of her vehicle staring at the metal cow with disdain.

When she first turned she had seemed annoyed and then her face relaxed into an alluring smile. 

And now here she was, once again in the seat next to him in the pickup as it jostled down a dirt path toward one of the back pastures. It wasn't long before bulky black and white cows came into view. Abbie laughed each time her tiny body got launched against him because of the uneven nature of the path.

The little minx.

“So, how are you British and your grandma isn't?” Abbie asked, peering up at him. 

“She is my mother's mother and my mother is British American,” Ichabod said gently. “You may not know it given my grandfather's quiet demeanor, but he is very much British.”

“British American,” Abbie chuckled. “Sounds like a fancy way of saying white-white.”

Ichabod open his mouth to respond but found that, to be honest, she had a point. 

“I… haven't a response for that.” 

Wait… “Although, for example, if say you and I were to have a child they would be British American.” 

He felt his face warm at the thought of having said child with her as more than just an example. Abbie looked him over and hummed softly. “I'll give you that one.”

Ichabod glanced over and wondered if she, too, was thinking about the actual act of _making_ such a child. He shifted in his seat as they came to a stop outside of the barn. 

“Miss Mills,” he said softly.

She looked up at him with wide, eager eyes. 

“Abbie,” she purred. “I'd prefer you call me Abbie.” Her nimble little fingers traced the edge of his shirt placket, grazing the flesh of his chest with the tips, sending a pang of desire through him.

“ _Abbie_ ,” he amended, his voice unintentionally dropping to a low rumble that made a visible shiver shake her body. “Are you prepared for a rigorous workout?”

One corner of her lovely mouth quirked upward. 

“Is it going to be hard?” she asked.

“Very,” Ichabod replied. “But I'm quite certain you can... take it.”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she bit back a sound. 

“I guess… I guess we just have to see if I can.” Abbie unbuttoned her jean jacket, almost smirking as Ichabod’s eyes immediately dropped to the action.

Abbie stripped the little jacket off slowly, probably jutting her chest out a lot more than necessary. But, how would Ichabod know? Perhaps women's clothing was meant to be removed in the most tantalizing way possible.

Her breasts strained behind the stretchy cotton. Her nipples were hard and pebbled. Good lord he wanted to bury his face between them and fall into a blissful slumber. Then he wanted to wake and take those hard peaks into his mouth and make her moan his name…

Once Abbie removed the jacket, she tossed it onto the tailgate of the truck. 

“Show me what you want me to do, baby,” she said with flirtatious challenge.

Ichabod licked his lips as his neck muscles twinged gently. She turned and sashayed away after he handed her his spare gloves. When she bent over to wrap her hands around binding on the bale, Ichabod nearly lost it.

“Like this?” she asked, throwing him a look over her shoulder.

“Perfect,” Ichabod murmured. He strode over to the stack of hay bales and grabbed one up with ease. In three steps, he was tossing it into the back of the truck.

He heard Abbie make a soft, simpering sound. When he turned, she was sitting on her bale. One hand rubbed her thigh and the other rubbed the span of her chest, above her breasts. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat gently.

“I think I need to… see that process again. A couple of times, to make sure I have it right,” Abbie said, her voice cracking slightly as she squeezed her thighs together.

Ichabod nodded. 

“Whatever it takes to make certain the lady is satisfied,” he responded. 

Abbie's eyes widened and she clamped her thighs together even harder, trapping the one hand near her knees. 

~*~

If it weren't for the fact Ichabod was right there, she would have her hand in her shorts ringing the devil's doorbell. Then again, if she did do that, it might get her laid quicker.

For the past fifteen minutes she had been sitting on her bale of hay, studying Ichabod's technique. And quite honestly she had never been so envious of bales of hay in her life. 

He was surprisingly strong for a skinny farm boy. Ichabod lifted the bales with a low, deep grunt that went right to between her legs, then hiked it upward with a soft groan. Abbie observed the gentle play of muscle on the exposed skin between his elbows and where his sleeves were rolled up and the top of his work gloves.

He'd probably be able to lift her just was easily and toss her into the bed of the truck. Abbie rubbed the back of her neck and squeezed her thighs together. This was getting ridiculous. She was a grown ass woman. She just needed to spread her legs and tell him to get inside of her already.

It was bad enough that everything between her legs seemed to be banging a pot with a spoon shouting _TICK TOCK MOTHERFUCKER_.

Part of her felt like Ichabod wasn't a stranger. As much as Muriel talked about him, Abbie felt like she knew him.

_Oh, Jesus_ , Abbie thought, gulping hard when he shoved a bale further up into the bed of the truck, hunched over the tailgate. She could just imagine herself on that tailgate with him between her legs, pushing just as forcefully.

Her walls clenched at the thought.

Ichabod turned toward her again. This time he sighed heavily as he mopped sweat away from his face with a bandana. She wanted to walk over and unbutton the two remaining buttons on his shirt and lick her way up his body.

Then she wanted him to throw her into the bed of the truck. She could practically see him crawling in after her, slowly unzipping his jeans… 

She was willing to bet he'd be the kind to grab on tight and just pound himself inside of her. Then he'd flip her over and take her from behind.

_Fuck_.

She needed to burn off some.of this energy before she hurt herself. Abbie stood quickly and turned to grasp the twine binding on her bale of hay. This was going to be easy. They were just small bales. Besides, they didn't seem too heavy.

Abbie tugged and tugged on the binding but the damn bale didn't budge.

~*~

Ichabod tossed the bale into the bed of the truck and turned just in time to see Abbie tugging on the twine binding the hay together. She dug her heels into the ground and yanked forcefully.

“This is a lot more than... seventy-five… pounds…” she grunted quietly. She huffed and grunted with exertion, her backside jutting toward him with each fruitless tug. “You can do this, Abbie. You're not a weak woman. You are a strong, sensual, independent black woman. You don't need no man.” She collapsed forward onto the bale of hay with an exasperated sigh. “Urgh. Maybe I _do_ need a man.”

If he wasn't mistaken the last thing she muttered was “the things I do for dick.” Either that, or she said “he better give good dick.” Ichabod wasn't entirely clear. All he knew was that the bales had to, at the very least, weigh the same as Abbie.

Ichabod licked his lips and approached Abbie's prone form. He leaned down, a hand at both sides of her shoulders on the bale of hay. Good lord she was a tiny thing. She made a soft squeaking sound when his lips grazed her ear. 

“Is assistance required for completion?” he asked softly. 

“Oh, Jesus,” she whispered, her hips thrusting back against him.

One of his hands drifted to her thigh and pushed up the leg of her shorts. 

“Or perhaps you've simply grown too hot?”

“Hmm,” Abbie hummed. “I _am_ feeling a little hot.”

“Then by all means, come with me, Treasure,” he murmured.

~*~

_Come with me, Treasure_. Just what the hell was that? Abbie couldn't help but wonder. It hadn't sounded like a request. _Come with me._ Not as in “walk in this particular direction with me” but as in “let us fuck and reach orgasm at the same time.”

Or at least that was how Abbie read it. His tone had certainly been filthy enough for it to be read that way.

_Treasure_. Something valuable. Something priceless. Something held dear.

Why would he call her _treasure_?

She recalled Mrs. O'Leary telling him she was a sweet little treasure and wondered if that was where it came from. 

Abbie followed Ichabod to the back of the barn, behind the towering bales of hay, away from any potential prying eyes. He had her hand in his, leading her. Suddenly Abbie felt pretty damn giddy.

She wasn't going to lie, when he had shown her the best technique for moving the bales of hay, she had come a little. It had been a distraction when she had seen him removing his shirt earlier. It was damn near pornographic watching him grunt and groan as he lifted the hay and tossed it into the truck.

The buttons of his shirt half-buttoned, showing off his chest. The sleeves of that same flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows. The sloppy farmer’s market farm boy bun in his hair. Her fingers were itching to grab on to those silky locks and direct that bearded face to between her legs.

Somehow, she knew he'd be the kind to be into orally gratifying a woman. He licked his lips way too much while looking at her like a snack for him to not be into it.

Part of her wanted him to pick her up and toss her in the bed of the truck. Or maybe just a bed. Or maybe just the ground, straw-covered and everything.

He led her to a fanciful looking contraption of some kind. Abbie could see a large barrel of water that trickled down into a flume that ran into an outside trough which the cows drank from.

Ichabod retrieved a ladle from a hook on the wall and held it under the gentle stream of water. He smirked wickedly and held the ladle towards her. “Thirsty?”

Abbie licked her lips. At this point the fact Ichabod wasn't freaking out meant her panties had not burst into flames. She swallowed hard.

“I’m parched,” she croaked, stepping closer.

He rested the scoop of the ladle in her hands and offered his own fingertips to give it extra support as she delicately sipped the cool, crisp water.

Once she had her fill, he topped off the ladle and had a drink for himself. Abbie had to fan herself as renegade dribbles of water cascaded down his throat and chest. Shit. How the hell was her underwear simultaneously on fire and soaking wet at the same time?

He must have seen her fanning herself because when he lowered the ladle, he cocked a brow and hung it back up. 

“Here… permit me…” he said softly.

Abbie watched as his fingers moved to the few buttons he had fastened on his shirt and plucked them open. She bit her bottom lip as he stripped the shirt off and dunked it into the barrel. He carefully wrung most of the excess water from it then turned back to her. Her eyes fluttered closed as he delicately dabbed at her neck and chest with the damp flannel. It soaked her own top in the process, not to mention her underwear was even more damp.

“Fuck me,” Abbie gasped, as more of an exclamation she had intended to keep to herself rather than an invitation spoken aloud. However, she realized a little too late that spoken aloud she had.

The shirt hit the ground with a loud, wet _flop_ and Abbie found herself being drawn into Ichabod's arms. 

“I thought you would never ask,” Ichabod growled sexily, scooping her up bridal style.

She was amazed at how he made her seem so weightless as he carried her to the truck and set her on the tailgate. Ichabod cradled her face in his hands, trailed his thumb along her lower lip. 

“Is this what you want?” he asked softly.

“That depends,” Abbie replied, her voice low and sultry. “Is this going to include -” she palmed the front of his jeans “- this getting inside of me?”

His eyes darkened lustfully. “Rest assured, Abigail, if you want me to fuck you, it will happen.”

She shivered almost violently. She'd heard guys say they wanted to fuck her before. But damn. Abbie hadn't realized she had a secret fetish for a deep British accent saying it. It melted her insides.

“I like the sound of that,” Abbie replied.

She hated to admit it but, sometimes with the “handsome grandsons,” sex was all she got out of it. A few of them had worked out into short-term, heated romances, but they never lasted more than a couple of weeks. Abbie was kind of hoping this one would be different.

But at the moment, premenstrual hormones had her horny as fuck. So while a relationship and getting to know Mrs. O'Leary's grandson was something that piqued Abbie's interest, right now she wanted sex. At least this way she would know if she wanted to bother potentially getting emotionally involved with him.

When his lips touched hers, Abbie already had the answer to her question of getting involved. The way he kissed her deep, slow, and languid, exploring her mouth said yes. Yes, she did want to get involved.

Abbie moaned softly, her thighs parting to allow Ichabod to step closer. His hands rested on her hips and he pulled her closer to the edge of the tailgate. After a moment, Abbie felt his deft fingers at the button of her shorts, plucking the button free and pulling down the zip.

“Oh, God yes,” Abbie sighed as his hand slid into her panties to cup her mound. Her head fell back and he kissed his way down her throat and along the curve of her shoulder. 

Ichabod's fingers slipped between her folds and he hummed like a soft purr. 

“You're already wet, love.” He nuzzled her nose with his. “How long have you been denying yourself pleasure?”

“Since just before I ran under that cow,” Abbie chuckled, running her fingers down his chest. “I've been wa--oh, oh… Oh! Right there, baby.”

Abbie leaned back, spreading her thighs further apart to grant him better access. His lips found a sensitive spot just below her ear. He nibbled and lapped at the spot as his fingers thrust into her, rubbing over her clit with each back and forth motion.

“I want to take these shorts off of you and taste you,” Ichabod murmured softly then nipped her ear.

Licking her lips, Abbie nodded. 

“You won't hear any complaints from me.” She wrapped her arms around Ichabod's neck and lifted herself enough so he could peel her shorts and panties over her ass.

Abbie felt her heart beating rapidly as he placed her back on the tailgate and eased the scraps of cloth down her legs, to her ankles with her boots. She fell back as he got down on his knees and looped her cloth-restrained legs over his head.

He kissed and nipped his way from her knees and up the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. Ichabod hummed appreciatively as he nuzzled his face against her core. His eyes met hers when she propped herself up on her elbows.

Abbie's head fell back as he kissed her center slowly. His fingers fanned over her hips, cradling her as his tongue swirled around her clit before dipping inside of her. He moaned deeply when his lips returned to her clit to suck indulgently at his favorite treat.

Her thighs tightened around his face and she rested a hand on top of his head. His hair was soft between her fingers and she unintentionally found a leather cord that, when pulled, let his hair fall free.

Ichabod moaned again, trapping her clit between lips and tongue. He sucked harder, more insistently at the sensitive nub. 

“Oh, shit,” Abbie gasped, spreading her legs further apart. In return Ichabod nuzzled his face deeper between her thighs.

He pulled back long enough to suck deeply on two of his long, beautiful fingers. His eyes flickered to hers then to her center. With one hand, he parted her folds and licked his lips. When he leaned down he pressed the flat side of his tongue to her button and rubbed. 

Abbie swore softly as she felt his fingertips press to her opening then push inside of her. His tongue curled and flicked her clit then he sucked deeply again as he pumped his fingers into her wet heat.

“Shit, shit, oh fuck,” Abbie moaned, gripping his hair tightly in her fist. After a moment she cupped the back of his head. “Oh, God, yes. Eat it baby.” His response was to thrust deeper and harder with his fingers as he growled softly and feasted, burrowing his face deeper into her folds. “ _Shit_. Oh fuck, oh fuck…”

She came with a high-pitched squeal followed by a low grunt when he removed his fingers to lap thirstily at her core. Once he felt Abbie had been thoroughly satisfied, he untangled himself from her limbs and clamored to his feet.

Abbie lay on the tailgate, panting heavily and patting her chest over her heart. She looked at him with lust-blown eyes and licked her lips as he unbuttoned his jeans then pulled down the zip.

“Oh,” she squeaked. “I get dick too? How'd you know it was my birthday?”

“Lucky guess,” Ichabod purred. He held up a finger. “But first, let me fetch the blanket. Because I plan on tearing you apart.” Abbie whimpered and squeezed her thighs together. “But doing so on the bare tailgate could prove uncomfortable for both of us.”

Abbie bit her lip as Ichabod dashed to the cab to retrieve the blanket grandma had left for them. He returned slowly, staring at the quilt in his hand. She sat up and tilted her head curiously. 

“Something wrong?”

Ichabod shook his head and chuckled. 

“Nothing more than silly superstitions.” He folded the blanket a few times then lifted her up and set her atop it. “Now where were we?”

Abbie pulled him in for a kiss, moaning when she tasted herself on his lips. 

“You were about to fuck me.”

Ichabod's eyes darkened. 

“Indeed,” he murmured, pushing his jeans and underwear down just enough that he could pull his cock free. 

Abbie's eyes lit up as it bobbed proudly, hard and erect. She grinned and mentally crossed herself. _Praise Jesus for this dick I am about to receive, Amen,_ she thought with amusement. He had a perfectly valid reason to be proud of himself. Was it sacrilegious to thank God for the fact Ichabod had a big dick? Maybe. But she reasoned God made that body so maybe He'd appreciate getting credit when it was due.

Her fingers wrapped around the thick shaft, her fingers unable to touch. She didn't ordinarily think penises were particularly attractive, but Ichabod's was damn near a work of art.

He hissed softly and pulled her hand away. 

“I dare say it's not capable of getting any harder, Treasure.”

Abbie squeaked softly when Ichabod pulled her to the edge of the tailgate. He drew both her legs up - still confined by the shorts and panties at her ankles - and held her ankles at one of his shoulders. 

She watched spellbound as he eased his cock between her thighs and began to gently pump himself between them, the shaft rubbing against her clit with each stroke. 

“Oh, my God,” Abbie whispered softly, her eyes widening as the reality of what Ichabod was about to be fucking her with seemed to settle in.

It was going to feel so fucking good. But damn, he wasn't joking that he was going to be tearing her up.

Her body jerked as the ministrations between her thighs initiated the building of another orgasm. Ichabod moaned softly. 

“You're going to feel like heaven, Treasure. I know it,” he said longingly.

Abbie felt him slip from between her thighs. She felt him slide two fingers between her folds and part them. He rubbed his tip against her clit and against her opening. Her breath hitched as he prodded her entrance.

“Good Lord, you're so wet,” he breathed. “I warrant I could just… oh… ooohhhh…yes.”

Abbie's breath caught in her throat as she felt his dick spread her open. He slid in as deep as he could then withdrew slowly. He bit his lip, his eyes turning wild as he slid back in, pressing deeper. Ichabod swore and grappled with her boots to remove them, still buried inside of her. 

He managed to get one off and threw it over his shoulder then yanked one ankle free from her shorts and panties. Ichabod grasped her knees and hoisted them up his sides. “Treasure… I want to fuck you so good.”

Abbie shivered at his low growl-like tone and clasped her fingers behind his neck. 

“You better,” she breathed. “I worked hard for this dick.” She moaned softly and angled her hips so he could press deeper. “Fuck me hard, baby. Tear this pussy up.”

Ichabod withdrew and plunged back inside of her. She could already feel him jerking inside of her with each hard stroke. The sweet wet sounds of their bodies slapping together as he fucked her, punctuated by the steady creak of the old truck filled the barn. Abbie's eyes rolled back as he hit deep inside, making her body twitch and spasm around his thick cock.

“Harder, baby,” she groaned. “ _Faster_. Fuck me. Fuck me real good, baby.”

Her head fell back and she let out a string of grunted screams as he hit it just right. Her legs clamped around his waist, her own hips grinding against him. 

Ichabod felt his mouth go dry as he glanced down and saw that he was balls deep inside of her. His thumb went to her clit and he rubbed furiously at the sensitive bud. Abbie's back arched off of the quilt and she let out a shrill “Oh, shit!” before going limp and her cry of pleasure dissolved into giggles.

She looked at him, grinning as if drunk, eyes glassy, the apples of her cheeks slightly darker and rosy. Her hands slid up his stomach then scratched down. 

“You gonna come for me, baby?” she asked, her voice low, husky, and sensual.

“I wanted to make certain you wanted me to,” Ichabod replied, then leaned down to capture her lips. He thrust deep and hard, swallowing Abbie's soft moans. Each stroke spilled more of his seed inside of her until he was spent. 

Abbie grasped Ichabod's arms, squeezing tightly until all tension left his body. She licked her lips as he gazed down at her, gasping for breath. He bit his bottom lip and bit back a groan as she felt him surge into her one last time.

Ichabod placed featherlight kisses on her face. He chuckled softly as Abbie stroked her hands up and down his arms. 

“Did I pass the audition, Miss Mills?”

She hummed softly and nodded. 

“Nailed it,” she murmured. “You can start your new role as boyfriend as soon as we get back to the house.”

“What if I wish to start straight away?” 

They both moaned softly as Ichabod kissed her and withdrew. When he pulled back, Abbie ran her fingers through his hair. 

“I'm okay with you starting straight away.”

After untangling themselves from each other, Ichabod provided a dampened bandana for Abbie to clean herself up enough for the journey back to the farm house. She pulled her shorts and panties back on and looked around for her missing boot. A moment later Ichabod was sliding it back onto her foot.

Abbie tucked her hair behind her ear and tilted her head as she grinned at Ichabod. “So what's the deal with the quilt? You looked perturbed at first.”

He shook his head as he tightened the laces of her boot.   
“Nothing more than old superstitions,” he said with a slight laugh. Abbie nudged his leg with her secured boot. He sighed heavily. “By family the quilt is referred to as The Baby Maker. According to my grandmother, it was made by _her_ grandmother, who infused magic into the blocks and stitches for procreative purposes.”

Abbie laughed. 

“God, I love little old ladies. They come up with the funniest shit, I swear.” Her face turned serious. Her hand went to the base of her belly. “Oh, no… I can feel it… I'm pregnant. The magic is real.”

They both laughed at that. Ichabod finished tying her boot and grinned. 

“I suppose, since you are with child, I must marry you to make certain your virtue is not sullied amongst the ladies at the senior center.”

Abbie was liking where this was heading. Not the joking about getting married because of her getting knocked up, but just the easy energy flowing between them. Though the fact they _could_ make those kind of joke so soon boded well. She was willing to give it a try. Worst case scenario she'd break things off in a couple of weeks and move on to the next handsome grandson.

However, she knew the dick alone would make her hesitant about ending things. Maybe they'd have compatible personalities and make things work.

“Would you really do that?” Abbie asked. “Would you really marry a woman you just met if you got her pregnant?”

“If that woman is you, yes,” Ichabod said softly. “I feel as though we already know each other with as much as my grandmother and the other ladies in the knitting circle speak of you.”

Abbie felt her face warm and wondered just what all Mrs. O'Leary had been telling her grandson about her. He offered her a hand to hop off the tailgate. She looked up at him as he kissed the back of her fingers. She was really digging the way he was looking at her. 

“I'll keep that in mind,” she said softly, grinning ear to ear. “Besides, I'm on some of the best birth control on the market. I doubt the Baby Maker is strong enough to counter that.”

Ichabod gathered his discarded shirt and deposited it in the bed of the truck. He pulled a fresh one from a bag behind the cab seat and put it on before sliding into the driver's seat - after opening the passenger door for Abbie, of course.

He had good manners, that much was obvious, Abbie mused. She could hardly wait to see what else he could put down once they got to the farm house. Abbie scooted close to him and rested her head on his arm as he drove up the beaten path to the farm house.

However, any plans they may have had once they got there were immediately put on the back burner when Abbie spotted the sheriff's department car at the house and a tow truck extracting her Jeep from beneath the cow.

Corbin was waiting on the porch and grinned when they pulled up. “It's about time you kids showed up. Muriel said I might be able to find you here at the house or at one of the guest cabins…”

“Ichabod was showing me some of the more impressive parts of the farm,” she replied. “I thought you said you couldn't make it out here.” Abbie her face warm as Corbin's gaze drifted over her face before he plucked a few bits of hay from her hair. 

He glanced between her and Ichabod then arched a brow. 

“The fish weren't biting so I came on over. Showing you the farm, huh?”

Abbie looked up at Ichabod, his face was flushed pink and she noticed he too had a few bits of hay in his hair, looking rather disheveled with his hair hanging loose. She plucked Corbin's pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled her number on the back of Ichabod's hand. 

“I have to go deal with this, but… Call me,” she said softly.

Ichabod's mouth turned up into a wicked grin. “I most certainly will,” he purred. 

As she started to walk to the police car with Corbin, Ichabod called out gently, “Abbie…”

She stopped immediately because damn… She turned toward Ichabod and he approached. 

“Would you care to join my grandmother and myself at the Farmer’s Market tomorrow?”

Abbie grinned brightly. “I'd love to.”

~*~

_3 weeks later_ …

“Grandmother… _stop_ ,” Ichabod said, exasperated.

“I'm just saying, dear, the two of you look absolutely adorable together,” Muriel stated, handing Ichabod a dripping, freshly washed plate. He dried it promptly and put it away in time for her to hand him another. “You should propose before some other person sneaks in and steals her from you.”

“Grandmother, Abbie is not a prized commodity for you and the ladies at the center to swap, borrow, or steal,” he stated. 

Muriel blinked at her grandson. She wished she could say there was no greater commodity than knowing her grandson would have a lovely wife. That it was priceless knowing she would hopefully have great grandchildren before she and James succumbed to old age.

But she knew that would probably just annoy him more as he wanted her to stay firmly out of his romantic endeavors. Especially after the whole ordeal with that nasty Van Tassel girl.

However Muriel couldn't help but secretly smile at the thought of Ichabod and Abbie raising a family on the farm. There was more than enough room in the house for them to have at least seven or eight children.

Ichabod's head snapped toward the window as the sound of tires on gravel came from outside. His brows arched.

“I thought Abbie said she had to work today after her doctor’s appointment,” Muriel commented as she recognized the beat-up Jeep that had just parked outside.

Ichabod was already heading toward the door and opening it. Abbie held up a finger to halt his attempt to give her a kiss.

“ _We need to talk in private_ ,” she heard Abbie say by way of greeting, her voice trembling.

“Oh, dear,” Muriel whispered as Ichabod stepped outside, closing the door behind him. She shuffled to the door to peer out as the two went to sit on the swing.

“Who is that? Who's here?” she heard James call from his recliner in the living room.

“It's just Abbie, James, she came to visit with Ichabod!” Muriel called back.

“Who?”

Muriel hurried to peer around the doorway. 

“Abbie from the senior center. She's come to visit with Ichabod,” she practically shouted, so he could hear her.

James scowled but nodded curtly. 

“Good lad to get a lass like her. She could do better, though.”

Muriel sighed with admonishment and huffed. In her opinion, there wasn't anyone better for at least a hundred miles. Abbie was perfect for Ichabod and Ichabod was perfect for Abbie. She hurried back to the door to peep out the glass.

Ichabod was seated on the swing, face in his hands. _Oh, no_ , Muriel thought again. She distinctly recalled Abbie saying she gave new relationships three weeks before deciding whether or not to continue. _Oh, no_. 

She was already making a mental shopping list. She would be needing a pint of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Therapy, all the fixings to make a Shepherd's Pie, and about three Sandra Bullock films. That always made Ichabod feel better after a break up.

They would knit a blanket for the women's shelter while watching the movies. Ichabod would sob into his ice cream.

Muriel watched, not aware she was holding her breath until her oxygen meter beeped. Ichabod lowered his hands and laughed while shaking his head. _What was the boy saying_ , she lamented to herself.

He took Abbie's hand and kissed it, smiling up at her affectionately.

Muriel felt her heart flutter. Maybe she wasn't about to lose all hope for Ichabod and Abbie after all…

Ichabod stood and the two shared a kiss then parted, smiles on both their faces. Her grandson looked toward the door and gave Muriel an exasperated glare. She scurried back to the sink and pretended she had not been spying.

A few moments passed and the two came in. Abbie beamed happily and gave Muriel a hug. 

“Hey, Grandma. How are you and granddad doing today?”

Muriel felt her chest puff out with pride. “We are doing fabulously, sweet pea. What brings you here at this hour? Didn't you have to go to work after your appointment?”

Abbie nodded. “I did, but I told Corbin I had some business to deal with today so he gave me the day off.”

Muriel smiled and nodded, “August is a good lad.”

“Grandmother,” Ichabod stated. “Abbie and I have some… delightful news.”

“Oh?” Muriel chimed. “What is it, sweetheart?” She took Abbie's face in her old weathered hands. Abbie was positively glowing. “It must be happy news because you're luminous, my dear.”

“Ichabod and I are getting married,” Abbie said sweetly.

Muriel clapped her hands over her mouth to hide a delighted cheer. She then patted Abbie's face. 

“That's _delightful_ news indeed!”

“Tomorrow,” Ichabod added, stepping up to Abbie's side.

“Oh, dear! I need to get the Baby Maker to the cleaners so it's ready for your wedding night!”

She was so tickled with delight, she missed the glance between the two as she hurried off in search of the beloved family quilt.

~*~ Epilogue ~*~

To say Muriel and James O’Leary were the envy of the senior center was an understatement. Muriel had been so proud that some of the other little old ladies threatened to stab her with their knitting needles if she didn't shut up - and oh, goodness they hadn't seen Abbie standing there.

Ichabod felt most fortunate of all. Because _he_ was seen as such a gentleman and Abbie was so dear to all the little grandmas they all suspected the reason they got married so quickly was because they had got on so well.

As he watched his lovely bride placing some of her prize-winning pumpkins on the table, he couldn't help but think that was the true reason. Of course the fact she liked to wear pretty dresses that barely covered her backside when she bent over didn't exactly hurt.

Four months since that fateful day of their meeting. A little over three months since they had been married. It was no surprise that the sight of her delectable posterior as she bent over still caused a stirring in his loins that could only be calmed by being inside of her.

He couldn't help but remember that late morning tryst. During the three weeks after, they had decided to _slow things down_ and hadn't done anything more dramatic than his pleasuring her with his hands and mouth - and that had been but twice.

Abbie stood to her full height and smoothed down her dress. Her hands glided over the swell of her backside and Ichabod shifted in his seat. She was such a natural charmer as she showed off the crates of farm fresh eggs and butter she had just whipped up the night before. He didn't know if it was her sweet voice or the adorably bohemian style she had adopted for Farmer’s Market days, but she was absolutely irresistible to the customers.

As another happy customer walked away, Abbie gave a soft sigh and turned, her hand resting on the gentle baby bump beneath her dress. She walked over and settled herself into his lap and rested her head on his shoulder.

“Look at you, just sitting here while I do all the work,” she scolded playfully, then peppered kisses on his neck.

Ichabod stroked gentle circles on her knee. 

“I distinctly recall your saying to -” he cleared his throat and waggled a finger dramatically “- ‘stay out tha way’ while you set up. I was merely complying with your request.”

Abbie lifted her head and scowled. 

“Did you just imply I pulled a sassy black woman line to get you to stay out of my way?”

“Absolutely not,” Ichabod said with a delicate sniff. “I am merely mimicking the tone and gestures you used to ensure my impression was perfect.” He kissed her cheek. “Would you like to sit out the next customer and let me -”

“No.”

A few seconds later she extracted herself from his lap to sell a bottle of milk, six eggs, a small jar of her rosemary and garlic butter, and a spell jar.

Apparently, Abbie's late mother had been a talented witch that several of the little old ladies adored. It was part of the reason they adored Abbie so much - she had inherited her mother's gift. 

Of course he had been leery at first because of Katrina Van Tassel, but he quickly learned there was a big difference between the two women when it came to their craft. Abbie's family line had been healers and used their magic to help others. Katrina, he learned, did magic for the dramatics. She was painfully inept when it came to magic. She had power but no idea how to harness it into something useful for herself or anyone.

Speaking of which…

Ichabod leapt to his feet as he saw the fiery redhead storm toward their display. He rushed to Abbie's side and placed a protective hand on her hip as Katrina stopped in front of them.

The redhead tossed her thick mane of hair over her shoulder and jutted her chin into the air defiantly. 

“So it's true then, you've married the Mills girl and are already expecting a child?”

Abbie rolled her eyes. “You again?” she sighed. 

Ichabod opened his mouth to speak but out of nowhere a cane jutted Katrina in the chest. The short, round frame of Tilly Reynolds in her power chair stared up at her. 

“You listen here, you red-headed skank. You stay away from our girl and her man.”

Next was a slender and elegant, salt and pepper-haired Asian woman, Aggie Brooks. She waggled her finger in Katrina's face. 

“You should be ashamed of yourself. Go find someone who doesn't have a wife to pester.”

Ichabod nodded curtly. “Please, Katrina, you know what happens if Gloria or my grandmother show up.”

Katrina swallowed hard and had the decency to at least look terrified at the prospect of Gloria Morales showing up. Everyone _in the know_ knew Gloria and Muriel were the reigning leaders of the local coven.

The two grannies smiled sweetly at Abbie. 

“Don't you worry one bit about that red-headed hussy, baby,” Tilly said. “You got yourself a fine husband. Is your sister still single by chance? I would _love_ to introduce her to my Danny. I know things didn't work with you and him but I'm sure Jennifer could snap his ass into shape.”

Abbie chuckled nervously. “Actually, she's dating Rosa Foster's granddaughter Sophie.”

Both Aggie and Tilly groaned and lamented the fact Rosa Foster had snagged Jenny when she already had Sophie. Aggie bought a canister of homemade milk and lavender lotion and Tilly bought a loaf of Ichabod's fresh baked bread and some honey butter. 

Once they walked away Abbie chuckled and shook her head. 

“These little old ladies are something else,” she said. She rubbed her belly. “But never again will I dismiss anything they say when it comes to superstitions and magical items.”

Ichabod kissed the top of Abbie's head. 

“At least my grandmother's Baby Maker wasn't such a terrible thing.”

“I'll give you that one,” Abbie said, poking him in the ribs with her finger. “That one turned out pretty good.”


End file.
